The Garden
at Water Mill
755 Montauk Highway
Water Mill
631-500-9373
Dinner, seven days, 5 p.m.-midnight
What does it mean when a restaurant is virtually empty on a weekend evening in mid-August? It usually means sayonara, ciao, baby, make like a tree and leave. What does it mean when you walk into said restaurant and the odor of an oil burner puff back (or deeply embedded mildew) hits you so hard you’re not sure you can eat? Or when you ask about all the lawn games offered in the spacious backyard and the waiter sheepishly replies that “they disappeared, they were taken.” This place was heckin’ spooks!
I’m talking about the Garden at Water Mill, a new restaurant where Robert’s used to be. This utterly charming old farmhouse set back from the highway has been empty for many years. This may explain the malodorous acridity that assaults the nostrils upon entering. Coming through the front door there is a small bar. To the left is the low-ceilinged dining room with dark wood beams and pine floors. To the right is another smaller dining room. The walls are white, the windows and chairs are painted a pretty Colonial grey. This establishment’s main focus seems to be outdoor dining, as there are alcoves of tall bushes and gravel or slate patio areas with some cumbersome and wonkily assembled tables and benches.
We ordered some $20 cocktails. The one called Strawberry Fields tasted like Purple Drank, simply ghastly. We thought we’d explore the lawn-game-free backyard before our food arrived, for this had been a very enticing feature on the restaurant’s website, along with less than helpful directions of “westbound Jitney stop is located in the front yard.” Nope, y’all, your restaurant is on the eastbound Jitney side. Anyway, it’s a big grassy backyard but we couldn’t find the “forest” mentioned, nor the swing under an oak tree. We did spy the construction site where the furniture had been assembled, many gas cans, and a hot tub under a back porch. Heckin’ spooks number two!
The menu is very short, which was a blessing because we had lost one of our dining companions. We asked our waiter if there were any specials that evening and he replied, “Yes, bread.”
“Whah?”
For $12 you could get four small rolls and some butter. We ordered this special and the rolls were nice and fresh, rather like Parker House rolls. They were described as goat cheese, red pepper, olive, and lavender, although the add-ins were not so much that you could distinguish each one. They were served with one room-temperature mound of lavender honey butter and one rock hard cold mound of plain butter.
We then moved on to some starters of octopus, Gem salad, and tuna crudo. The octopus was tender, citrusy, and cut into a child’s bite-sized pieces. Little Gem lettuce is one of my favorite lettuces. It is like a cross between romaine and Bibb, crisp and sweet. This was a very colorful salad and it did have a few Gem leaves, but it was predominantly red oak leaf and radicchio. It had sesame seeds on it and allegedly chive oil, but the flavor could not be detected. The lettuce leaves were pretty.
The tuna crudo was fresh and cold and served with five thick slices of cucumber. We did not taste the key lime, sesame, and citrus listed on the menu.
The waiters and bussers wear short-sleeve shirts and shorts, which brought to mind Ed Norton and Harvey Keitel as scoutmasters in Wes Anderson’s “Moonrise Kingdom.” It just tickled me to see them scurrying around in these uniforms. Must’ve been the drank. By 8 four more people came into the restaurant. I kept wondering what kinds of lawn games had they had that had been pilfered by mid-August. Croquet? Cornhole? Bocce, pétanque, boule? Did the rope swing fall out of the oak tree? They do not serve beer here.
For entrees we ordered a lobster roll and shrimp with linguine. The lobster roll was good and had a few fresh chopped herbs in it, perhaps tarragon. The bun had not been toasted. It was served with French fries that get a C+ and Brussels sprouts. The Brussels sprouts were very crispy, possibly deep fried, and coated with honey. They exuded so much oil into one’s mouth that it was heckin’ spooks number three! They reminded me of the cromesquis de foie gras served at Au Pied de Cochon in Montreal, Martin Picard’s gout-inducing, PETA-horrifying, paean to gastronomic gluttony and grease. They are crisp on the outside, molten fat on the inside.
The shrimp with linguine was the most utterly tasteless pallid version I have ever had. No herbs, no red pepper, no discernible splash of wine, just an oily dish of noodles and five shrimp that tasted like they had been boiled separately. I had asked for extra garlic, as I like this dish to be gutsy and robust and they did remember the extra garlic. It helped not a whit. I did not eat the dish. Our “Moonrise Kingdom” scout/waiter did not notice nor inquire.
The prices are high for the quality and portion sizes at the Garden at Water Mill. And why is it “at” Water Mill, not “in” Water Mill? If it were at a casino or resort or shopping mall, it would make sense. “The Garden at Atlantis,” say, or “The Garden at Borgata.” But it’s in the hamlet of Water Mill. Bad grammar. Be best.
Starters, salads, and crudos are $18 to $28, pastas are $34 to $45, mains are $32 to $55, sides are $12 to $15, and desserts are $12.
We were told that all of the desserts used to be gluten-free but now they are not. The Garden also has an ice cream maker. We ordered the strawberry rhubarb pie and a berry tart and a scoop of frozen white water stuff. The strawberry rhubarb pie was served ice cold with a squirt of Reddi Wip. The berry tart had an uncooked bottom crust. The cruelest ending was tasting the frozen white stuff. It had the unmistakable flavor of old freezer burn. My dining companion (who has probably been on more restaurant reviews with me over the years than anyone) said, “This could be the worst ever.”
Before I replied, I pondered the many, many frightful meals I’ve had in this reviewing career, the P.F. Chang-esque Phillippe Chow, the snootery and lackluster service of many, the endless nightclubs of Southampton serving grub as a blotter for bottle service, the cat food of a vegetarian cafe, the list goes on. No, this wasn’t the worst, but it was mediocre and peculiar.
My friend also pointed out the next day that despite it being the peak time for summer produce, “they didn’t have any tomatoes or corn or anything like that on the menu.” Yup. Summer’s over, sayonara, ciao, baby, time to put the Garden to bed.